<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Interview with a Vamp by Missfoxx21</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587038">Interview with a Vamp</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missfoxx21/pseuds/Missfoxx21'>Missfoxx21</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call of Cthulhu (Roleplaying Game), Call of Cthulhu: Masks of Nyarlathotep, Call of Cthulhu: Path of Perdition (Web Series), Internet Remix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:55:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>975</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missfoxx21/pseuds/Missfoxx21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny Reportman takes a trip to the Windy City to interview a businesswoman who has found herself in a difficult position.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Interview with a Vamp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440974">A Vulture among thousands</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talulaskye/pseuds/Talulaskye">Talulaskye</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Posting this here because all the cool kids are doing it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Local Pharmacist Denies Rumors of Gang Involvement”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By Johnathan T. Reportman, New York Times.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first thing that catches my attention was the scent of smoke in the air. It’s spiced like cloves and tobacco and it seems to waft through the air without clinging to the skin. My interviewee lounges in the chaise across from me like a contented panther after a successful hunt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is no denying that Shirley Kemp is a beautiful woman. Short, silky black hair frames a slender, fair face and makes her forest green eyes stand out like emeralds in an oriental statue of some long-forgotten goddess. Her limbs are long and graceful and her makeup is painted on but not so much as to look gauche or gaudy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks like a pinup come to life and it’s no wonder that so many rumors swirl about her. Still, she doesn’t seem overly bothered as she takes a long, steady puff on her cigarette holder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The issue is,” She says finally, “People seem to think I murdered my ex husband. I think that’s how all of this began.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And did you?” I ask, only after swallowing the lump in my throat. She smirks and tilts her head to regard me with those viridian peepers. My mouth goes dry again. She has a way of looking at someone that turns them into a hunk of wood. She takes another long, slow drag on her gasper before she answers me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heavens, no.” The smoke rolls out from between burgundy lips and seems to caress my cheek. “Dear Arthur is off in Iowa with his new wife somewhere. Last I heard, they are extremely happy together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. I know this much, I’ve done my research, but the question needed to be asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You see,” She starts as she crosses one long leg over the other, “We found out that due to a childhood illness, I probably wouldn’t be able to have kids of my own. Arthur wanted to stay with me anyway but I knew he wanted to be a father. So I convinced him that a divorce was in order and that he should pursue someone else. I already knew he’d been seeing his secretary on the side anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffs and looks away out the window. A certain melancholy creeps over her lovely features and my heart goes out to the woman. Someone at her age and lacking in her way...it was likely impossible for her to ever remarry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are men like that?” She muses around the end of her cigarette holder. “Acting like they’re making some great sacrifice by staying with damaged goods...but still pursuing someone else behind her back. Do they think we don’t notice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look away and shuffle my papers. I can’t speak for other men and I don’t want to trample on her pain. Instead, I clear my throat to continue the interview.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how does this tie into the rumors about criminal activity, Ms. Kemp?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She starts as if just remembering I’m there. The easy smile slips back onto her face. It doesn’t meet her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, that whole mess. Well, rumors started about me poisoning my husband because he got a bit of food poisoning during the divorce. After that, a local gang started poisoning folks and I had apparently sold them some arsenic from my store.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs. “But I was hardly the only place to do so. I sell rat poison all the time to folks. Mine was only one of four or five places that carried the stuff that provided it. People just fixated on me because of the rumors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. Again, I was looking into this for a while before I approached Miss Kemp for an interview.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A husky meow interrupts us as a massive black and white cat launches itself into her lap. She grins with delight as she begins to fuss over the well-loved feline. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Mister,” She coos, “Did I forget to give you your supper? I’ll get right on that after we finish up here, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cat purrs like a freight train and regards me with a smug expression. Its paws knead into a supple thigh that shows through a slit in her long skirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lucky bastard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, I have a job to finish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. But you’re saying, for the record, that you have no intentional involvement with the gang?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None whatsoever.” She agrees, petting the creature on her lap. “I’m just an honest businesswoman who wants to live a quiet, respectable life and most people in the community know that. Just...” she sighs again, “It’s been difficult, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t being a divorced woman bad enough? If this rumor keeps spreading, I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive the shame.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I reach out and rest a hand on hers. She stares up at me, vulnerable and sad and my heart aches. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Kemp. I’ll make sure the word gets out. It’ll all turn out Jack in no time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles and one of her long, gorgeous gams brushes up and down my leg. I get the feeling in the back of my mind that this spider has tugged me deep into her web. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to get out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s exactly what I hoped you would say, Mr. Reportman...”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Johnny sat back from the desk and stared at the article he’d written. He sighed, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the basket with the others. The scent of cloves and smoke still nestled into his shirt. He could have sworn he felt her eyes on the back of his neck, even all the way back in New York.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, a promise was a promise and there was work to be done. Johnny lit another cigarette and began typing again.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>